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There la no one on earth to whom I oit>e as much as I 
do to Mother, and to her this book '' lotiingly dedicated 



"He that has light within his own clear breast 
May sit in the center, and enjoy bright day; 
But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts, 
Benighted, walks under the mid-day sun; 
Himself is his own dungeon." 

— Milton. 



PREFACE 

Man is a poetic creature; he was created in the 
image of the Creator of the universe, which har- 
monizes and proceeds with infinite grace and majes- 
tic rhythm. I believe the man or woman does not 
live who has retrograded so far that, at times his 
or her veins are not flushed with a poetic tingle 
as the conscience, speaking, says, "Jehovah reign- 
eth; let the peoples tremble; He sitteth above the 
cherubim; let the earth be moved." 

Therefore, I am presenting this little book to my 
friends — all of whom are poets — not as a peer among 
the masterpieces of literature, but simply as a little 
sunbeam of God's love filtering through the sun-glass 
of my imagination, and falling, I hope, into some 
dark corner; vibrating a chord of sympathy in some 
isolated life, or resting some mind, busy with the 
cares of much serving. I shall be happy if it pleases 
my friends who have requested me to publish it, 
since they have been so near to me and have brought 
sunshine into my life. 

To God's universe; to my associates, and espe- 
cially to my parents and teachers, I am indebted 
for the inspirations that have helped me in this 
expression of adolescence to the adolescent. — Author. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 



I. Page 
Renaissance 8 

IL 
The Music of God 12 

III. 
The Early Buttercup 13 

IV. 
Harvest Time 16 

V. 
The Artist's Advice 17 

VI. 
Roses 21 

VII. 
My Prayer 22 

VIII. 

A Chase With My Rival, or Scientific Courting.... 23 

IX. 
We Will Meet You at Home 28 

X. 
Meditations 29 



Renaissance 

and 

Other Poems 
I. 

RENAISSANCE 

(This poem was written at the time of the Vernel 
Equinox, March 21st, 1912.) 

f5T'IS even; at my study window 
^ I contemplate the day, 

With its failures and successes 

Marking out the toilsome way. 
How my store of classic knowledge, 
Science, philosophy and myth, 
As an atom of debris 

Hangs on the pryamid of truth. 

How my helmet, shield and breast-plate, 

For defense in mental strife, 
Scarce doth warrant me an entrance 

Into the tournament of life. 
And my acquired refinement, 

Aye, all my polished art, 
Are as thorns and thistles. 

In Nature's throbbing heart. 

'Tis even; now fades this 
Vernal Equinoxial day; 
And from out my study window 
8 



Renaissance and Other Poems 



Aphordite and Demeter say: 
"Come out into the class room 

Of the beautiful, the real, the true. 
And study renaissance 

Of classics nearer you." 

I betake myself to musing. 

And the blood leaps in my veins, 
As I think how very feeble 

I have grasped the divine plan; 
I was made in God's own image, 

With judgment, purpose, and with love, 
And I died through my rebellion, 

To induement from above. 



Now return I to God's class room. 

My lessons unprepared, 
Yet from my heart I enjoy every part, 

And His treasure with me is shared. 
For they, only, know the love that can flow 

Who are led by the Infinite 
To the stream of faith, from the fountain of 
trust, 

In dynamics beyond the sight. 

For He teaches not, as do 

His humble students, men. 
The achievements and the progress 

Marked on the towpath of mankind. 
Ah! They fail to employ 

The finer senses of man; 
Yet they were failures who 

Would thus their destinies find. 



10 Renaissance and Other Poems 



Each propelling life's argo — 

These frail Argonauts — 
By elements through sensation 

Made analytic thoughts, 
To hear, to taste, to smell, to feel, 

To use the miracle of vision, 
Doth solemn thought and praise compel, 

Yet God gives intuition. 

So the lectures I hear 

In this Pythagorean class. 
Are the rippling brooklet. 

And zephyrs that pass. 
Yet my soul is outpoured 

In hearty response 
To the words, as they 

Echoing say, "Renaissance." 

And I try to express 

In my homely way. 
My soul's sweet content 

At the close of this day; 
But though the five senses 

May serve you well, 
A sixth you must have 

If to you I tell 

The beauties of holiness; 

Potentiality of faith 
In the gift to creation 

Of universal life. 
How the white, fleecy clouds, 

Fringed with purple and gold. 
Like a virgin's white blossom. 

Half concealed in the folds, 



Renaissance and Other Poems 11 



Are swelling to curves 

Of beauty and grace, 
Covering the heart 

Of this grand Renaissance. 
So I pray the Teacher 

And Benefactor of men, 
May the rennaissance of Thy Spirit 

In my heart have free reign. 



12 Renaissance and Other Poems 



II. 

THE MUSIC OF GOD 

(This poem was sug'g-ested to the author by a state- 
ment made by his music teacher, Miss Allie C. Stevens, 
and was written at Eugene, Oregon, November 10, 1910.) 

OD verily loveth music; 

His creation lauds Him with song; 
From the murmuring trees 

That are swayed by the breeze, 
To the tide as it rolleth on. 

i. 
The little birds of the forest, 

Which twitter their carols so sweet, 
In the wide spreading fields 

And the beautiful dells, 
Do verily God's song repeat. 

'i 
So thou; my soul, my inmost self, 

Shall thou refuse a song, 
When stream and breeze and bird 

In harmony are heard, 
And nature sings God's sweetest song? 



Renaissance and Other Poems 13 



III. 



THE EARLY BUTTERCUP 

(On the 25th of Jaunary, 1907, the author, being- a 
chore boy on his father's farm, near LaGrande, Oregon, 
went for the horses, which were in the snow-covered 
pasture, and that night, having found a buttercup on 
the sunny side of a rock clifC while in the pasture 
during the day, he wrote this, his first poem.) 



A 



FTER the thaw in January, 
The snow lay on the flats;. 

Jack Frost, with fun and fury, 

Danced o'er the hill's bare backs. 



He noticed, as he passed along, 
A buttercup in full bloom; 

She surely heard a snow-bird's song 
And came out all too soon. 



"I'll fix her," he thought, 

"For she breaks winter's rule; 
This night she'll drink a cup 

Of experience extremely cool." 

"Hey there! little buttercup. 
Aren't you pretty cold? 

'Tis too early you've got up. 
What made you be so bold? 



14 Renaissance and Other Poems 



"You should have slept on, 

To come out in the spring 
And hear the wild bird's song; 

For indeed they sweetly sing." 

"Oh yes, it is quite bleak, 

But I don't mind that the least; 

When I can give to those who seek 

The vernal fragrance, a bounteous feast!! 

"Oh no," said Jack Frost, 

"You are surely mistaken; 
And I'll not be bossed 

Until winter's forsaken. 

"And tonight you shall see. 

To your dissatisfaction, 
Where you will be 

With such a notion." 

But Jack's brother. North Wind, 
While "eaves-dropping" about, 

Heard, and thought it a shame 
Cruelly to blot her out. 

So he set off with a skip 

And gathered together 
A downy white blanket 

As soft as a feather. 

And ere night fell on her 

She was tucked snugly in, 
Away from Jack's torture, 

By her friend. North Wind. 



Renaissance and Other Poems 15 



Where she slept undisturbed 
Till the thaw in the spring, 

When again she appeared 

To hear the wild birds sing. 

All months have their sorrows, 
All seasons their pain, 

But there's always a flower, 
E'en in Winter's cold reign. 



16 Renaissance and Other Poems 



IV. 

HARVEST TIME 

(Date of writing, July 25th, 1907.) 

^HE Autumn's near, the Harvest's on, 
^ And we can hear the farmer's song. 
They come, they come, at break of day. 
And mow and rake the fragrant hay. 
Chorus — 

Oh! Harvest Time, sweet Harvest Time, 

Now workers in my fields may find 
Their winter's store, and e'en to spare, 

The plow-man's and the reaper's share. 
So come, ye toilers, satisfy 

Your taste for jams and pumpkin pie. 

The fields of golden, waving grain, 
Bend slightly in the summer rain. 

Then turn again to get the sun 

And ripen for the "Harvest Home." 

Now scores of binders can be seen, 

Each drawn behind a prancing team, 

While farmer's sons whistle a tune, 
The meter of the sycle's sound. 



Renaissance and Other Poems 17 



THE ARTIST'S ADVICE 

(This poem was composed March 19th, 1909.) 

OU may talk of good times 

At parties and balls, 
And show me fine pictures 
That hang on your walls; 
You may tell of the eloquence 

Acquired at school, 
Regarded by orators 
As according to rule; 

But when the flurry 

Of glitter has flown, 
Leaving you by yourself 

And your lonesome, alone; 
Methinks the picture 

You fain would behold 
Would surpass the ones 

Of glitter and gold. 

Neither then pen, nor the brush. 

Nor the colors of art, 
Do it justice in painting, 

Nor its beauties impart; 
Yet every sane maiden 

And every sane man, 
I fancy have painted it 

Again and again. 



18 Renaissance and Other Poems 



There's no choice of the seasons 

Of sunshine or moonlight, 
The picture will develope 

If the paint's applied right. 
It may be from the hammock 

That swings in the shade, 
Or in the pale moonlight, 

Far down on the glade. 

So when you paint it, 

This "picture of love," 
With the green earth beneath. 

The bright heaven above. 
Take care to work 

In an ideal location; 
Some nook where the heart 

Can find total devotion. 

In the study of paintings. 

The first to be found 
Is the general subject, 

And then the back-ground; 
And the next of which 

The artist thinks 
Is the contrasting colors 

And blending of tints. 

Many the times 

During the flight of the years, 
A beautiful picture 

To me reappears; 
An artist painted 

It long ago 
And how he painted 

To you I'll show: 



Renaissance and Other Poems 19 



The toil of the day- 
Was forgotten at length, 

As he walked by her side 
He felt a new strength; 

A new life appeared 

As the old life receded, 

Cupid appeared, Courtesied, 
And leading, proceeded. 

A nightingale's song 

Was heard from a tree. 
While the frog's magic chorus 

Floated in from the lea. 
The fragrance of wild flowers 

Was softly afloat. 
And a preponderant lump 

Was stuck in his throat. 

The moon-lighted lake 

Spread far to their right, 
Crossed by a bridge 

Of golden light, — 
The chirp of a cricket 

Pierced the still air. 
And the prayer of a canine 

Was heard from afar. 

They tarried a while 

On a bank of sweet violets; 
While the fragrant perfume 

Told their unspoken thoughts. 
In a weeping-willow 

A young turtle-dove 
Was cooing and crooning, 

And, ah! this was love! 



20 Renaissance and Other Poems 



You may talk of good times 

At parties and balls, 
And show me fine pictures 

That hang on your walls; 
But in painting "love's canvas," 

Ah, painter, be sure, 
For right or for wrong. 

Its effects must endure. 



Renaissance and Other Poems 21 



VI. 



ROSES 

(This poem was written for a friend, November 1st, 1908.) 

AWAY o'er the eastern mountains, 
Is a green little valley of flowers, 
Crossed by a limpid river, 

Hiding beneath the bowers; 
There's where my heart gently leads me 

As the twilight softly falls; 
There in fancy now I see you 
And hear your gentle call. 

Ah! well I remember the evening, 

Though months and the years have flown, 
When I placed a ring on your finger. 

And you said your heart was my own. 
Ah, darling, don't you remember? 

The roses were wet with dew; 
You picked me a crimson bud, and asked, 

"Will the return of the roses do?" 

The roses have come and gone, dear, 

And we are far apart; 
But time or distance, dear, 

Can never change my heart; 
And alone in the solemn twilight 

I offer this earnest prayer, 
"When next I stray amongst roses, 

May my own little Rose be there." 



22 Renaissance and Other Poems 

VII. 

MY PRAYER 

(This poem was written on the same date as "Roses, 
November 1st, 1908.) 



if 



ESUS, Savior, I would pray thee, 

Bowing here before thy feet, 
To look kindly on Thy servant. 

While I solemnly entreat. 
Wouldst thou cheer me when I sorrow, 

Let thy light shine on the way. 
Be my guard in all temptation, 

Near me would'st Thou always stay. 

Jesus, Savior, friend of sinners, 

I would live and die for Thee. 
Teach me how to win the tender 

To Thy fold; where'er they be. 
As I ripen in Thy knowledge. 

If it be Thy blessed will, 
I would fight the hosts of evil. 

Guarded by Thy mercies still. 

Jesus, Savior, strong and mighty, 

Still for grace I do implore; 
Would'st Thou heavenly manna send me, 

Till I reach the Golden Shore. 
And when angel wings shall bear me 

Safely o'er the dashing foam, 
May I hear Thy voice dear Savior, 

Welcome me to "Home, Sweet Home. 



Renaissance and Other Poems 23 



VIII. 

A CHASE WITH MY RIVAL, 

or 

SCIENTIFIC COURTING 

(The author was raised in a snow climate, as Is 
shown in the following poem, which tells the experience 
of one of his friends. Written February 6th, 1907.) 

'31 SHUT my eyes, and seemed to see 
^ A thousand people, just like me; 
All sitting back, half in a doze, 

Wondering why it blows and snows; 
Dreading e'en to do their chores. 
Just because they're out of doors. 

While I sat and warmed my feet, 
And tried to think myself to sleep, 

I seemed to hear some hidden one 
Talking in a gentle tone; 

Trying to explain the bliss 

In the snow storm — little Miss. 

So earnest was the phantom's plea, 

That I aroused to listen, but she ceased to be, 

And getting up to fix the fire, 
I became possessed of a desire 

To leave the dreamy, heated room, — 

How strange one's mind should change so soon. 



24 Renaissance and Other Poems 



I flung the door, and, gee! how fresh! 

The sweet, cold air I half embraced. 
The snow was falling fast and deep. 

And making fields look like a sheet, 
Only extended out so wide 

As to lay the folds where the heaven died. 

As I pulled my mittens on, 

I thought I caught the dying sound 

Of something I heard before; 

Sweetly familiar, yes, and more; 

It warmed the blood within my veins, 
And made me feel like I could sing. 

As I stood and pondered so. 

The air that had been white with snow 
Was gently turned to a golden hue. 

As the bright full moon shyly peeped through, 
And, ah, the dim outline did rise 

Of old Mt. Emmala, 'neath the skies. 

But was it real, and could it be, 

Or had the phantom deceived me? 

I stopped and listened; listened long; 
Thinking of some old church song, 

And the silence gently deepened, 
Like a little child a-sleeping. 

But yes, I heard it once again, 

Floating on a gentle wind, 
Now increasing higher, higher still, 

Throwing out a magic chill, 
Till I felt myself aglow, 

Enjoying winter's moonlit snow. 



Renaissance and Other Poems 25 



It was the distant sleigh-bell's chime, 

The winter's glory of the northern clime. 

Still on the south wind it was swelling, 
Pain and sadness both dispelling; 

And it glided o'er the hills, 

Clearly resounding in the vales. 

Hark! Now the sound was gently dying, 

Like the echo of one crying 
In some canyon, dark and drear, 

When no human friend is near; 
And the south wind was increasing, 

While the sounds were still decreasing. 

I listened as the sound grew low. 

While the sleigh flew o'er the distant snow, 
And heard the last faint sound 

Rising from the slopes beyond. 
Now all was still; yea, deathly still; 

Of silent grandeur I drank my fill. 

I hastened then to do my chores. 

Thinking of the happy hours 
That I should spend 'neath moonlit sky. 

Passing lake and woodland by; 
And late that night drive out in view 

Upon the plains some miles below. 

The cow I milked, then swilled the swine, 
And gave some grain to my blacks so fine. 

Then harnessed them up all neat and snug, 
And went to find my best sleigh rug; 

Got whip and lap-robe both in place, 

And went to the house at a merry pace. 



26 Renaissance and Other Poems 



I kindled a fire and fried some meat, 

And made some biscuits, "hard to beat," 

Then I sat down and ate, alone, 

Wishing she might call this "home"; 

Then we might be content to stay 
Under its influence, night and day. 

The pots and dishes washed I clean, 
And left the kitchen neat as a pin, 

Then to the wardrobe and donned my clothes, 
My overcoat and winter shoes; 

My fur cap, and my scarf so warm; 
Then out I went down to the barn. 

t 

I took from the barn the prancing team, 
With sleigh-bells buckled on their haimes. 

And hitched them to the old red sleigh, 
Tucked in the robes, and then away — 

Away we dashed through the barn-yard gate, 
And I gave them the rein for fear I'd be late. 

I had about an hour's drive 

Before I'd gain my sweetheart's side, 
And my rival, then, with flying steeds, 

Shot into the road three rods ahead. 
My "blacks" caught the spirit of the race, 

And on we flew o'er snow and ice. 

He, seeing me, applied his whip. 

And I slowed down to a modest gait, 

And when his sleigh turned to the right, 
I held back clear out of sight; 

Then pulled up at Mrs. Jones', 

And went in to get the use of her 'phone. 



Renaissance and Other Poems 27 



The receiver placed I to my ear, 

And, for evermore! what did I hear? 

"I suppose so, and that's a fright; 

He says Jack won't be out tonight — " 

I did not wait to hear it out, 

For I was enraged a-t the very thought. 

I gave the bell crank one short turn, 

Quick and impatient, for it seemed to burn; 

Then said: "Hello, Grace, and what is that?" 
She replied: "Hello! Is that you. Jack? 

Nell was just asking about you and Joe, 
And I told her — well, you know. 

"But say. Jack, can't you come tonight? 

The roads are so fine and the night is so bright. 
Joe is coming for me, but I shan't go. 

So promise to come, and I'll fool Joe; 
For, really, Jack, his little bluff (off." 

Isn't worth thirty cents, with the three rubbed 

"Oh!" said I, "I'm on my way, 

With Nip and Tuck and the old red sleigh; 
Joe headed me off, and I divined his plan 

And concluded to inform you of the scheme; 
So I stopped in at Grandma's place. 

Just to call up my darling Grace." 

"Yes," said Grace, with a merry chirp, 
"I'll teach Joe Williams how to flirt; 

You come across by 'Birchwood Bridge,' 
And I'll be there with Nellie Mead; 

And leave Joe to St. Peter at the Golden Gate; 
But hurry, for the party starts at eight." 



28 Renaissance and Other Poems 

IX. 
WE WILL MEET YOU AT HOME 

(This poem was written on June 19th, 1907, the day 
after the death of the author's brother, Franklin. 

E miss our dear brother, 

His dangers are past; 
He's left us in sorrow 

And gone to his rest. 
Where heart-aches and weeping 

And pain are unknown; 
To sleep till the Savior 

Shall usher him home. 
Chorus — 

"Home, home, sweet, sweet home," 

When we, too, are called, 
We will meet you at home. 

The strong link in love's chain, 

Which always was bright, 
Remains yet unbroken, 

Though you've left our sight; 
And we pray its strength 

May but help us on high. 
Where God's love shall lighten 

And loved ones ne'er die. 

The body lies peacefully 

In the lone tomb; 
The spirit, in Paradise 

Sleeps till He comes 
To gather His loved ones 

To heaven so sweet. 
Where friends know each other, 

And loved ones shall meet. 



Renaissance and Other Poems 



X. 

MEDITATIONS 



(This poem was written August 9tli, 1908, in memory 
of a brother, Franklin, who was killed by a horse kicls 
July 18th, 1907.) 



3 



LAY awake on my pillow last night, 

For sleep had fled afar; 
And watched through the open window 

The twinkling evening star; 
The past reappeared before me, 

And the present vanished, quite; 
And Father Time in his flight turned back 

To my childhood days, last night. 

I seemed to be in the garden, 

With my brother, just younger than I, 
Hoeing and talking and laughing, 

As we did in the days gone by; 
Watching the bees select their flowers, 

And wondering the reason why. 
Listening to the chirp of the cricket. 

Or catching a butterfly. 

Ah, happy the times we spent together 

In woodland and field and meadow; 
And sweet were our thoughts in those happy days 

Before sin had cast his shadow; 
When we sympathized in each other's grief, 

And felt each other's fears; 
But ah, my heart throbbed when I thought, 

"He has been under the sod a year." 



30 



What a cruel life this is to live, 

After one learns to know; 
But sorrows bind love cords closer, 

As heavenward still we go; 
For surely 'tis sweet to think 

Our dear ones have reached their goal, 
"Where the Tender Shepherd doth guard with 
care, 

The lambs of the upper fold." 



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HECKMAN 

BINDERY INC. |S| 

Si> DEC 88 

N. MANCHESTER, 
INDIANA 46962 





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